Unfortunately on the Friday I could barely get out of bed. My hips seemed to have seized up and my back and shoulders were sore. I put it down to compensation injuries from walking oddly and assumed it would ease off in a few days, but it didn’t. In fact if anything it got worse. I couldn’t bend down without stopping to think about it, and sometimers not even after thinking about it. After dosing on ibuprufen I managed to get out for a 3 mile run in week 2 but it didn’t feel good.

I kept waiting for it just to feel better, but it didn’t look it was going to without help, so in week 3 I decided to go and see Magic Ray again. Ray wasn’t available but I did see Magic Peter, who said that the muscles round my hips didn’t feel particularly tight or knotted, but he did feel a lot of tension in my back which he worked on. My right leg felt considerably looser afterwards and I think even the change in my mood made a difference and I consciously tried to relax at my desk, on the bus and sitting on the settee. But it didn’t last

I don’t think I ever expected to feel unscathed after 95 miles and 33 hours, but other people were talking about running within a few days and some even racing (though I am aware Kate Jenkins is superhuman), so the odd gentle jog didn’t seem unrealistic. I still had an entry open for the Clyde Stride, though as each day started with me taking about 5 minutes to shuffle the 3 yards from the bedroom to the bathroom, it was getting unlikely without some sort of miracle recovery (but then again I still believe in the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy). And I did go out with Bill on a couple of recces for the Stride because once I got warmed up the pain in my hips went away … well mostly.

I enjoyed these runs; it was good to share the bits I knew with Bill and on one of the recces I discovered that horses also wear midge nets.

I finally saw sense and withdrew from the Stride and I had a good day supporting Bill, though I proved that I’m no use either as a navigator or as a photographer. I think Bill was supposed to be in this shot:

I’m now seeing a physio who is working his way round everything that’s seized up and he thinks it will take a few sessions yet to free everything. In an effort to keep moving, I’ve dug my commuting bike out after two years languishing in the garage. It was creaking a bit too but a liberal dose of lube got the chain and gears working smoothly again. Does WD40 work on hips?

But that doesn’t come close to doing justice to the journey, so it’s an epic tail even after the edits.

Start
The station car park at Milngavie was buzzing. Loads of WHW luminaries walking around and a tenseness and excitement in the air – and it had stopped raining. I tried to stay calm and conserve energy by sitting quietly in the car but when 12:30 came and Sean gave his briefing it was impossible not to feel part of something huge. I reminded myself one last time that I had done the work and I did deserve to be there and then we were moving through the underpass and up the steps (though I don’t do steps!).

The torches snaking ahead began to string out as we came out of the woods and as I passed Craigallian Loch I stopped to look at the skeins of mist hanging over the water in the pre-dawn light. The rest of the journey to Drymen passed quite quickly; I laughed out loud when I was buzzed by bats coming down the road to the little bridge and I think I found the worst possible line through the muddy field so my new silver special-K gaiters got muddy (Brenda made them, one of them has a K for karinsmiles, the other also has a discreet F and G).

As we went up through the forest Karen Robertson caught up with me but we only managed to share a few words because I was hunting for a place off the path with a bit of cover. I was starting to feel a bit wabbit at this point and I’ve found that somewhere between 15 and 20 miles seems to be a low point in every run I do. It rattled me in a couple of races because it seemed too early to be feeling tired, but now I accept that it’s no indicator of how I’ll feel at 30, 40 or 50 miles.

Balmaha

The midges were out at Balmaha where Ian had a friendly word for everyone coming down into the car park and I took a longer stop to re-fuel and re-stock my pack. I don’t think I waited as long as I planned, but in fact I never timed any of my stops so I have no idea whether I stopped for 5 minutes or 20.

I met Ray McCurdy on the path up to Craigie Fort and we managed to get confused about the path back down (I would blame his influence but if you’ve read any of my other posts you’ll know navigation isn’t my strong point). Not far before Rowardennan I met the legendary Jim Drummond and we passed a bit of time in WHW stories, then he completely freaked me out talking about an 8am cutoff. I was almost certain there was no cutoff at Rowardennan but I stepped up a gear all the same, just in case. I gave Bill, Brenda and Elli big hugs because it would be some time before I would see them again.

It was beginning to look like it might be a nice day, though I guess you don’t get rainbows without rain

I enjoyed most of the next 23 miles of the support-free zone, especially meeting Fiona Rennie on the forest track from Rowardennan. Running behind Fiona was like being in a masterclass, watching her switch seamlessly from running to walking and back again over the more technical terrain. I felt good just spending some time with her, her positivity is infectious. I traded places with Susan Donnelly and Rob Apple quite a few times along this stretch as Susan stopped to take photos of the full torrents falling beside the path (just trickles of water a few weeks before) and they never failed to give a couple of words of encouragement in passing.

Bein Glas
I caught up with Caroline Gibson not far before Dario’s post and it was clear she was digging in a bit with pain in her hips and knees. I hoped it was just a bad patch and the smiley faces at Bein Glas would give her a lift but it was more serious than that and sadly she pulled out there. Mags Turnbull was lovely, offering smiles, advice, good humour and tape for my toes already bruised and battered. And here I picked up the second of the motivational notes Brenda had put in my drop bags. They were brilliant, I carried them the rest of the way and I’m keeping them (Bill thought they were scrap paper when we came back but I managed to retrieve them from the bin).

She also put this on the outside of my bags, as much to give the marshalls a laugh as me (thanks to Lee MacLean for the photo):

I thought I was still feeling quite strong to Crianlarich but I must have been slowing down. I met Ray again at Derrydarroch and we chatted away. Ray is incredible. He does all these races with minimum technical kit – Ron Hill tracksters, plastic ponchos, carrier bags and his answer to restoring muddy socks is to buy 3 for £1 so you can throw them away if they’re wrecked (Sport socks, er yar sport socks, 2 forra pound). He’s still talking about going back to shorter races next year after he completes his 100th ultra. It will be a real loss to the ultra community if he does.

Auchtertyre
I moved ahead as we got to Bogle Glen and here I had a bit of a crisis. I suddenly realised that I was going to be much closer to the 4pm cutoff at Auchtertyre than I intended and Bill had planned to meet me on the path and he wasn’t there. I couldn’t afford to stop so I tried to call Brenda on the run but Crianlarich is a black hole for mobile reception. Eventually I managed to get through to her voicemail and leave a message but Brenda and Bill were having a crisis of their own. I sent a text from Bein Glas so they would know when I left, but it didn’t get through until after 3pm, they were worrying that I didn’t have a hope of making the cutoff and weren’t sure whether to sit tight and wait or try and find me. I meanwhile had ramped up the pace, unsure of how far I had to go, and that’s why I looked a bit stressed as I got into Auchtertyre at 10 to 4.

Running out of time

I shed my soggy, muddy Cascadias that had been shredding my toes for the last 20 miles and changed into the slipper-like comfort of my Lunarglides. Unfortunately my toes had swollen up enough to make even the ‘glides nip so I had to resort to my well-worn Asics road shoes. Thank goodness I brought them, in fact they were only thrown in as a last resort. It was a short and easy run to Tyndrum, where I warned Bill I was going to want company across Rannoch Moor, and then I was off again to Bridge of Orchy. I didn’t see anyone else on this section until almost at the station but I knew someone passed through Auch not far ahead of me because the dogs set up a frenzied barking. They must have had a fun day; they probably had sore throats by the time I got there.

Bridge of Orchy
I put some more clothes on at Bridge of Orchy and I thought I might have overdone it but the Lord of the Bridge reckoned I would be glad of it before I got off the moor. I ended up with tights over my shorts, waterproof trousers, a thermal long-sleeved top, hat, buff, gloves and my heavier jacket. I changed socks yet again – 6 pairs had seemed overkill when I packed them – and we climbed up the hill. At the first flat/downhill bit, I broke into the most inefficient, ungainly jog (much as I’d been doing since Tyndrum) and Bill was immediately 10 yards in front of me. He fell back to try and match my pace and after a few steps he changed to a brisk walk, which was still faster than me. That decided it. Power walking was definitely faster and it felt stronger and more like I was making good progress.

Murdo was out on the hill with a huge saltire and we stopped to chat for a few moments. This is what makes this race different – the people who do incredible things to make it happen for what’s quite a small number of runners. Marshalls, committee, supporters – all losing sleep, being eaten alive by midges,worrying about the runners, waiting and watching forever in all sorts of weather. And all with a smile You don’t get that at Edinburgh Marathon!

Brenda had company at Victoria Bridge and we stopped to watch them for a minute. It’s a waste to be out in these surroundings and stare at the ground.

I felt a little bit guilty because Bill had expected to be running, albeit slowly, and I had hoped I wouldn’t need him before the ski centre, but I wanted his company across the moor in the rain, so he was now committed to doing 37 miles with me. However it was his first trip across the moor and foul weather or not, it is spectacular. Sean must have run up and down from the white corries countless times checking on the last of his charges and he stopped to offer a few words of encouragement each time. We reached the ski centre as the last of the light went and I prepared myself mentally for going out again in the dark.

Altnafeadh
Karen and George came into the ski centre while we were there. I thought we were now right at the back and I expected them to catch us up before Altnafeadh but we were still on our own. I don’t much enjoy the section from Kingshouse to the Devil’s Staircase in daylight but it was OK in the dark, other than that I thought we were being haunted by a very slow moving car off to the left and I only realised it was a bridge on the A82 when I stoppped and stared at it.

The climb and then the descent felt a long slog. There were three or four pairs moving at a similar speed but stopping to eat at different times so we kept seeing the same people. As the day started to break we could see a big bank of cloud over Blackwater reservoir and the lights down below in Kinlochleven. I’ve done this bit often enough to know it’s still a long way away but it was re-assuring all the same. Finally, onto the landrover track and a yomp down to Kinlochleven where the amazing Julie was waiting. Julie’s blog is a fantastic read – enthusiastic and entertaining and I always finish it with a smile on my face. I still can’t quite comprehend why people give up their weekend (including their sleep) to support this race in the way they do but I’m very grateful that they do.

Kinlochleven
I was tired when I got to the checkpoint (really? after almost 80 miles and two nights without sleep?) and I found it a safe haven that was particularly difficult to leave. When I went inside for a comfy seat to change my socks I found Lesley waiting for a lift and Dr Chris came over for a chat, so I think I stayed there longer than I intended. To the two guys who I mis-directed, thinking we were on the main road, I’m truly sorry for the extra quarter mile you did, but asking a runner probably wasn’t a good move.

The ascent was s-l-o-w, but when we came out onto the Lairig Mor the sun was illuminating broad stripes across the hills on the other side of the loch and it was beautiful. When I stopped, experiencing weird visual aberrations and feeling a bit sick, Bill asked how long ago I had had real food and I think I snapped back at him. But sugar was the answer and both problems (all three if you count being crabbit) went away as soon as I had something to eat. Why is it that your brain conspires against you and you can’t recognise the symptoms of low blood sugar in yourself?

The Wilderness Response Teams out on the Lairig Mor broke it up into manageable chunks and the guys were still really cheery despite having no sleep themselves. Bill was calling the track the ‘yellow brick road’ and that is what it looked like with the early sun on it, and the Emerald City waited ahead in the form of the Leisure Centre in Fort William.

Lundavra
The bonfire was well down at Lundavra but Brenda was waiting there, and she’d managed to grab an hour’s sleep since Kinlochleven so she was looking quite fresh. We didn’t stop long because now I just wanted to get to the finish and for the first time since the lochside I took my jacket off. I was calculating and re-calculating what my likely finish time would be, and keeping up as brisk a walk as I could. At the top of the forest, some wonderful person had a flask of hot sweet black tea and nothing has ever tasted so good.

We yomped down the track, just trying to maintain the pace, and passing two guys on the way, so when we met Brenda and Elli at Braveheart Car Park, I barely stopped for a hug because I didn’t want to be passed again. As everyone knows, the last bit is the longest stretch of road ever. Bill ran ahead to get photos and then finally there was the Leisure Centre, a bit of a zig zag through the cars and it was done. The sun was shining, friends came over to congatulate, I got a huge bear hug from Donald (despite his horribly swollen shin) and kisses from Elli.

Yes the day, and the night, and the next day, went well.

Bill and I had beautiful new matching Karrimor Jaguar V rucksacks (still being used every week to carry shopping) and a lovely little Robert Saunders lightweight tent (also still in use), but we filled the sacs with piles of heavy unnecessaries and hefted them on to our backs in Milngavie with no idea at all of how much they weighed. Nonetheless, we started out with a spring in our steps and looking forward to the whole adventure. The myriad clangy, spring-loaded gates along the old railway line didn’t exist then and I remembered the stiles as huge ladder stiles that we initially clambered over without a thought and latterly stopped to take our packs off and drag ourselves over them unladen. However the photos I’ve found tell a different story (though I’m still glad they’ve replaced them).

Big stiles, locked gates

Amongst other things (books, jeans, trainers, kitchen sink) we were both carrying SLR cameras with several lenses so I’m surprised at how few photos I can find, but I think we were rapidly too tired to care to take the cameras out. So here’s a few scenes we did think worthy of recording.

Not even sure where this bridge is...

Graigallian Loch, I think

Hut at Carbeth

We camped at Drymen, in the field below the main road with the funny wee hill in it, got out our two (TWO!) stoves and cooked something before heading off to the pub. I remember pitching the tent as the light was going but we took this photo of a football match and the pubs shut at 10, so it probably wasn’t as late as I recall.

Football at Drymen

Billy Connolly was apparently in the public bar (his local at that time) but I was so knackered I refused to leave the comfort of my seat in the lounge. I remember feeling completely done in and I would like to think it was tired but happy, but again the pictures tell a different story.

No comment!

Didn't even finish my pint!

Here’s our super wee tent – and both rucksacks appear to be full though the tent has still to be stowed. If we had kept our old canvas Vango we probably wouldn’t have even got past Carbeth.

Drymen

There are a couple of photos from day two

Garadhban Forest

Loch Lomond from Conic Hill

We camped at Rowardennan, got eaten alive by midges in the evening and again in the morning, and called it a day. We used the excuse that we were going to run out of food around Crianlarich on a Sunday, with little prospect of re-stocking, but we both knew that in truth we had stuffed far too much in our packs, it was still a long way to Fort William and it was meant to be FUN!

Rowardennan

We took a ferry across the loch, got a bus to Arrochar and then a train up to Rannoch Station and spent the rest of our holiday staying with my aunt and uncle in Bridge of Gaur and had a fabulous time there.

So my second attempt at the whole WHW is just a day and a half away but I’m fitter, stronger, more prepared and definitely more thrawn than ever I was then. I’ll just go and add a couple of books, spare trainers and my laptop to my sac and I’ll be ready

And in the way of dreams, we then found ourselves late at night in Queen Street station where bizarre robed beings shouted strange curses and moved as though intoxicated. Then we went by train to Falkirk and drove after midnight with my sister B and Elli to Milngavie, and ran from a station underpass, through Mugdock woods by torchlight, seeing spooky disembodied red eyes along the path at Carbeth before meeting B and Elli again for warming coffee and sweet delicacies. The dream was punctuated by the sound of many gates opening and closing and and there was that magical silver car again in the moonlight at Dumgoyne, with more coffee, kisses from Elli and hugs for B. And still there at Drymen, this time offering ambrosia from the gods in the form of cheesey potatoes.

By the light of the silvery moon

We ran through dark woods, down empty roads and on lonely shadowy paths. We watched the sky brighten as we emerged from the forest, we heard cuckoos chime as we climbed the path on Conic Hill and the woods down to Balmaha were alive with birdsong. In my dream we were excited at having an adventure, and happy that everything was going well. And in my dream we were the only people moving on the busy West Highland Way.

The strange thing is that when I woke up at my sister’s this morning I found a concert programme in my bag and my shoes were wet and muddy.

But the most remarkable thing of all is that Bill had the same dream.

(Thank you, thank you , thank you to B, Elli and Bill for giving up a night’s sleep to join the adventure).

I was also late in entering the D33, in fact we had only just made up our minds to revisit Aberdeen (the last time I was there was our honeymoon 33 years ago – romantic eh?) when we offered a lift up and back by Willie, who’s a clubmate and all round brilliant companion for a long journey, either in a car or on foot.

I ran most of the race with Norma, in her first race over 26.2 miles and, being women of a certain age, we discussed anything and everything and the miles rolled by fairly smoothly. It was really good to see the leaders on their way back and almost everyone going the other way returned our greetings. Runners are indeed smilers. At the turn I was astonished to see there was still a heap of jam sannies, so either everyone else had been very frugal or George had bought every pan loaf in the North East. Norma teamed up with Purdey, her black lab, and we turned back the way we came. Purdey’s company gave us both a bit of a lift and the miles continued to tick over, with the view looking completely different on the way back.

My stomach started to play up in the last 10 miles and I had to stop three times in a couple of miles. I urged Norma on at the third stop, but thankfully it calmed down after that and I picked up again to the finish, where Bill, Norma and Willie were all waiting with smiles, bottles of beer and brilliant medals.

A great wee race. Next year we’ll maybe go up for the weekend and revisit all the romantic haunts last experienced in newly-wedded bliss (who knows, maybe they’ll still be showing ‘The Spy who loved me’ at the pictures).

Thanks very much to Ian Smith and Lorraine for the photos – the rest of the set can be found here. I’m especially pleased with the shot she took of me at the finish, I’m not sure the smile accurately reflects how I felt but my leading foot is at least two inches off the ground, proving I was still running

I’ve been thinking about a pair of five-fingers for a while now (yes, I did read Chris McDougall’s book). I have a pair of Nike Frees which were a real bargain in TK Maxx a couple of years ago, and they’ve been well used, both for running and loafing but they’re getting a bit past their best. They looked quite pretty when they were new and they were incredibly cheap so I snapped them up, knowing I could wear them just as shoes for generally walking around in if they were no use for running.

The five-fingers are a bit too expensive for a punt though. If I couldn’t run in them I wasn’t at all sure what I could do with them other than treat them as very expensive slippers, so when Bill offered a pair of KSOs as a birthday present I decided I would go for it. I bought them from Run and Become, generating a fair bit of interest amongst the other people trying on shoes at the time, and I did the obligatory jog up and down the shop a couple of times (if you know Run and Become in Edinburgh, you’ll realise that’s only about 4 steps in fact, but I wasn’t going to take them out on the pavement to try as a first go). They fitted very nicely once I finally got them on so I went for it. Bill remarked that it was probably the quickest decision I had ever made on a pair of running shoes and the girls laughed just a bit too readily (not fair, I generally try on no more than two or three pairs – I just try them on repeatedly and then buy the same ones as last time).

I finally got a chance to try them later in the week. I took them into the office and showed them off (someone suggested I paint the toes with nail polish ) and then took them to Inverleith Park for a lunchtime run. Running on the grass was a whole lot of fun, it was really good to feel close to the ground and even running through squidgy mud felt good. I didn’t feel I was running very differently from usual, it just felt more playful and carefree.

Running on grass

I did a few laps, nothing too stressful, and then decided to leave them on to do the half mile or so back to the office. I stepped off the grass onto the path, and what a difference – it was like chalk and cheese, or maybe concrete and grass. Instantly I started to run differently to protect my feet and it felt desperately flat-footed and awkward. After 100 yards or so I was on a rough earth path which felt a bit better, but I stayed on the muddy leaf-covered bit as a far as possible. The path crosses a little humped wooden bridge over the Water of Leith which I normally hate because it’s steep on the way down (I have a bit of a thing about bridges anyway) but the five-fingers gripped really well and it didn’t feel nearly as precarious as usual and then it was back on concrete and tarmac for the last 300 yards.

There are already too many unknowns and uncertainties involved in attempting the WHW race for the first time, and I don’t think I want to add to them by risking injury wearing five-fingers on hard surface for the moment. However, I was actually giggling as I ran round the grass. I’ve decided that I will use my Vibrams for doing speedwork on grass and hopefully I’ll find fewer excuses to avoid the speedwork so that I can get out and play in my monkey-feet.

We caught the First Bus 62 service in Nicolson St at 10:42 (which was in fact the First Bus on a Sunday) and got into Peebles an hour later, and by the time we faffed around finding the start of the route it was almost noon but we’re notoriously late starters most days. The route went immediately uphill through lanes and vennels but was out into open moorland in less than a mile. The paths were a little muddy but not eroded and the gradients were easily runnable.

There are three main ascents and descents in the run and the first of them goes up onto the shoulder of Cademuir Hill before descending down to arable farmland. We decided to reserve all our photos stops for the return journey because it was always going to be a bit tight doing the whole 26 miles between bus times, and in truth I had underestimated how much climbing there would be.

Bill propping up a waymarker

Stobo Kirk

The hills is lonely

After a short descent into the valley, the path climbed again, passing the remote steading of Stobo Hopehead At this point, mindful of the time, we decided we would run on for another 10 minutes before turning back with enough time to complete the return leg in daylight, still over a mile short of Broughton. The views on the return journey were different and equally stunning and our refreshments were still where we had left them – and what’s more we managed to find the spot again. We got back to Peebles with not quite enough time to visit the pub but there was a very handy newsagents with machine coffee before we got the bus back to Edinburgh.

It was a really good day’s running, though only 23 miles rather than the 26 planned, and one I would like to repeat with a bit more time between buses. We missed quite a few photo opperchancities both on the path and a little bit off it and we definitely should do it again with enough time to visit the Laurel Bank Tearoom in Broughton. There’s a handy pamplet of the route here .

This is what I love about trail-running – getting out to see new places, never knowing what we might see over the next hill or round the next bend.

Tacky tree

There are two things which led to this total lack of festive organisation – one is that work has been extraordinarily busy for the last couple of months and the other is the Marcothon. Like everyone else, I’ve found challenge in trying to fit in a run every day in difficult conditions, and there have been a few days when I’ve been tempted to listen to the little voices that say ‘you could give it up now and no-one would care’. On balance, though my December mileage is way down on last year, there has been some beautiful running this month.

Running off-road on hard-packed snow in the clear, frosty air has been fabulous both in daylight and darkness. All the paths I know are totally transformed with snow-cover and there have been magical sights I don’t recall seeing before – ice-crystals growing on the banks of snow, violet clouds, knurly long icicles, trees felled by the weight of snow and ice. Three times I’ve done last-ditch reps on the hill at the end of the street late at night to fulfil the terms of the challenge and it’s proved a good session that I’ll try and repeat every week from now on. Finally yesterday, on Christmas Day, the canal was hard enough frozen for a run on the surface, not to be missed because it may be another 20 years before it’s cold enough again (though I said that last year too).

I’ve just discovered the collage tool in Picasa .

Snow and Ice

More snow and ice

Yet more snow and ice

There’s one week of the Marcothon left and at least another month of mayhem at work but for now it’s a holiday – time to chill out with my family, cook for pleasure rather than just for tea, and catch up on my blog.

..and then it started snowing late on Friday nght and there was a good covering on Saturday morning, so all plans were dropped so I could go out for a quick run, just in case this turned out to be the only snow of the winter. It was only a round trip of about 4 miles but I really enjoyed it; the snow was fresh with a few other footprints, but not really packed down and the Water of Leith walkway was busy with dog-walkers and families out in wellies, with not a grumpy face in sight.

On Sunday it had snowed all night and continued to snow heavily all morning. It was after two when we eventually got ready, in a rush because there would be only an hour or so of good daylight left, and we headed for Water of Leith walkway. The snow was fairly deep (for Edinburgh) but there had been a fair bit of traffic along the route and while it was packed down there was still a decent amount of traction; hard work though, and slow, but there was an odd pink mist lying low and the woods were really picturesque.

Passing by woods on a snowy afternoon

There was a curious circular contrail, maybe a plane circling while they decided where to land with the airport closed, either that or someone was smoking a mighty big ceegar.

smoke ring

As we reached Balerno, the sun was dipping down below the horizon and we took to the roads up Harlaw Road and past Kinleith Farm to Clubbiedean and Torduff reservoirs. The light was fading rapidly but the snow meant that we could keep on going without lights well after the sun set. We were startled by 5 or 6 grouse sheltering under a hedge that rose and shouted ‘goback, goback’ at us as we passed and the snow clouds turned every colour from pink and orange to violet. It felt much further than the 14 miles it was but it was a great run. Sometimes it pays to be lazy all morning.

After more snow overnight I ran into work on Monday morning, stopping to take a picture of the Gormley sculpture in perfectly reflecting water just as the sun rose. It was heavy going and someone suggested it must be like running in sand – yes, just like sand, only cold … and wet… and slippy… but it does mean I have to pick my feet up a bit more than I usually get away with.

Bit parky out

Tuesday was much the same, enough fresh snow for a bit of traction, the last sliver of the moon shining above the trees and the leaf people wearing white fleece (the snow is only a few inches deep in Stockbridge and even then it’s more than we see most years in the Pentlands). The worst effect of the snow is that it has bowed overhanging branches and I have to duck them and fight my way through a prickly berberis hedge that has been forced over the path by the weight of snow.

Fleecy leaf couple and dog

Today was the first day of the Marcothon, just the usual 5 mile commute to work but it feels different with the knowledge that it’s the first of a month-long running streak. In 200 years people worldwide will be running a December streak in and there will be a popular explanation as to why it’s called the Marcothon – they will suggest it’s connected with Mark Antony running naked through the streets in the Lupercalia hitting people with a thong (as in Julius Caesar) and only a few descendants of the 2009 and 2010 Marcothoners will know the truth.